


Not Quite Santa

by thekingslover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, M/M, angel!cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes for a terrible fill-in Santa. He had no suspicious that anyone would think he’d be great, but unfortunately neither he nor the elves who asked him to fill in for a sick Santa Claus had guessed he’d be this bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr blog, 'thekingslover'.

Castiel makes for a terrible fill-in Santa. He had no suspicious that anyone would think he’d be _great_ , but unfortunately neither he nor the elves who asked him to fill in for a sick Santa Claus had guessed he’d be _this bad_.

As it was, his big dark wings had frightened more than one child hiding hoping to see Santa, and at the last house, he’d been so startled by a sudden scream, that his wings instinctively flared out and knocked over the Christmas tree, smashing the pile of presents Castiel had stacked. Castiel had procured more, but by then, it seemed, the damage had been done. The screaming child could not be calmed with even the largest teddy bear.

Now, after fleeing to a house a few states over – he’ll go back for the rest – his confidence is shaken.

Who would have thought Santa’s job was so difficult that even an angel would struggle in his stead?

Castiel glances around. He’s not entirely sure where he landed. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, he thinks. Oddly, no Christmas decorations adorn the walls. There’s no tinsel on the windowsill or tree in the corner. No stockings over the fireplace. Instead, there’s a gun. And as Castiel turns, there’s another, with the barrel right in his face.

A human man, of twenty-six or so, holds the weapon. He glares at Castiel with defiant green eyes. Castiel loses himself for a moment, counting the freckles splattered across the man’s nose.

“What the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

Castiel sees no reason to lie. “I’m an angel, and I’m filling in for Santa Claus. He’s sick.” He glances around the room, but in no corner is there signs of a tree. “Where should I put the gifts?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. What a comedian,” the man grumbles. He doesn’t sound amused.

“No,” Castiel corrects. He points at himself. “I’m an angel.” Immediately, Castiel regrets not bringing Santa’s naughty or nice list. He’d assumed everyone deserved a present, but that was before this man jabbed the barrel of his gun even harder against Castiel’s chest, poking him uncomfortably. “I would prefer if you wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah? Well, I would prefer if a giant feathered freak didn’t just pop his way into my house, but this is where we’re at.” Even angry, the man is attractive with high cheekbones and a pronounced jawline. His eyes, though, as beautifully colored as they are, seem sad and distant, tired.

Castiel would prefer, too, that this man refrain from calling him a _freak_.

“That’s very hurtful language, and there’s no need for rudeness,” Castiel says. Behind him, his wings sink a little. None of the other angels, all with bright white wings, tease him for his dark wings, but Castiel always wonders what they say out of earshot. “I only mean to fill in for Santa. He’s sick.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

It occurs to Castiel then as he glances from the gun to the man that perhaps this demeanor is akin to a child’s scream. Perhaps Castiel simply alarmed the man.

He would merely need to show him there is no cause for fear.

Castiel straightens himself. He puffs up his wings proudly, and says, “My name is Cas –“

And is promptly shot in the shoulder.

Castiel doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. He just looks down as the bullet slides harmlessly down his jacket and onto the floor.

The man, wide-eyed, slowly backs away. He leaves the gun on his couch and instead grabs a silver knife. “That’s a fancy parlor trick, buddy,” he says, casually, before rounding the couch and jamming the knife into Castiel’s chest.

Confusion pulls Castiel’s brow together as his gaze travels from the knife to the man. “Are you attempting to… vanquish me?”

The man also appears confused. He frowns. “Is it working?”

Castiel wiggles his fingers and toes. Everything appears normal. “No.”

The man maintains his grip on the knife though doesn’t move it further. Castiel appreciates the gesture.

“My name is Castiel,” he tries again. This close, he seems to have claimed the man’s full attention. Castiel can’t seem to look away from him either. “I’m here to give you a Christmas gift.”

“What kind of gift?” the man asks.

“What would you like?”

The man looks again, for only a fraction of a second, before pushing away and crossing the room. He leaves his knife in Castiel’s chest. Castiel removes it for him and places it on the nearby coffee table.

“Can I have anything?” the man asks.

Castiel shrugs. He’s only supposed to conjure certain gifts but he finds himself wanting to make an exception for this man. “I suppose.”

The man takes a breath. It shakes at the end. “I want to go back in time. Fix things. Everything.”

Time travel is definitely not on the list of approved gifts. Castiel isn’t even sure he _can_ do that. “I’m not sure…”

The man snorts. “So much for anything.”

Castiel’s heart clenches, heavy. He presses his hand over it on his chest. He’s failed many times tonight but this, right here, watching the man’s head tuck low and his shoulders hunch - _this_ feels like the worst.

Castiel feels _helpless_.

Time travel isn’t on the list, but tools are. Tools are used to build things.  To _fix_ things.

Castiel conjures a wrench and a red ribbon around it, tied into a bow. He approaches the man and holds it out.

The man looks at it and frowns. He glances up at Castiel with confusion narrowing those eyes like forests.

“To fix it,” Castiel says.

The confusion slowly fades, widening into something much softer.

“I’m not sure that’ll work,” the man says. When Castiel’s wings start to droop, defeat swallowing him again, the man quickly adds, “But it sure as hell can’t hurt.”

Castiel perks, wings puffing up. “Really?”

“Yeah, man.” He takes the wrench. He looks at Castiel, at Castiel’s wings, and then glances away. A bit of red dusts his cheeks. “Thanks.”

Castiel’s insides twist up, but pleasantly so. He didn’t know angels could feel these things. It’s anticipation. Or nerves. Or… affection.

Blood rushes to Castiel’s face. “I have to go,” he says and spreads his wings.

Just before he goes, he swears he hears the man call, “Cas, wait!”

* * *

Dean sits on the couch, staring at the wrench in his hands. At the small bow wrapped around it.

He thinks of blue eyes and a mess of hair. Of an ill-fitted overcoat. Of an expressive pair of dark wings. _Castiel._

He doesn’t believe in angels. Or miracles. Or signs. But…

_To fix it_.

Sighing, Dean reaches for his phone on the end table. He scrolls through his contact list, finds Sam’s number, prays it’s still in use, and hits call.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has no idea why he’s been summoned to Santa’s workshop again this year. Santa’s in perfect health, and Castiel has already been scolded many times by the elves for so many botched deliveries. Perhaps Santa himself wishes to do the scolding this time.

_Dear Santa,_

_Last year you had an angel fill in for you – nerdy guy, dirty overcoat, blue eyes. Anyway, he helped me fix some ~~shit~~ stuff with my brother.   
_

_Turns out I’m a brother-in-law. An uncle, too! Sam’s been trying to get a hold of me for a while. I wasted a lot of time being mad over something stupid._

_Fixed now, though, thanks to Cas. And that wrench._

_I feel a little silly writing a letter to you. I’m not a kid. I don’t particularly need anything._

_I just kind of would like to see Cas again. To thank him. Maybe you could pass the message?_

_Thanks,_

_Dean Winchester._

* * *

Castiel has no idea why he’s been summoned to Santa’s workshop again this year. Santa’s in perfect health, and Castiel has already been scolded many times by the elves for so many botched deliveries. Perhaps Santa himself wishes to do the scolding this time.

Castiel drags his wings low as he enters the workshop. He’s been dragging them a lot lately; the bottom feathers are starting to wear.

The elves glance as he walks by, and their eyes sadden before looking away.

Worry knots up inside of him. The elves are always stressed this time of year, but what could make them _sad_?

“There you are, Castiel!” Santa’s voice booms through the workshop. He appears at the end of a line of workbenches and hurries his way toward Castiel. Head down, Castiel walks a bit faster to meet him.

“I’m sorry about all the trees I ruined last year,” Castiel starts. “And the gifts I… I didn’t mean to ruin so many Christmases.”

Santa laughs, loud and warm, and pats Castiel on the shoulder. “You have no idea the good you’ve done.”

Castiel frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember Dean Winchester?”

Castiel shakes his head.

Santa just laughs louder. “Well, no matter. I have a special assignment for you.”

“I’m not sure I can –“

“It’s an easy task this time, I promise!” Santa waves an elf closer. The elf brings a tag on a long string and a bow. Santa drapes the string around Castiel’s neck. The tag hangs atop his blue tie. He hands him the bow. “You only have to stand there, hear out what this Dean Winchester has to say, and come home. Easy, right?”

Castiel holds the small bow with a delicate touch. He’s seen this same shade of green before, paired with a splattering of freckles that have not left his thoughts for almost a full year.

He wonders if the wrench helped.

Softer, Santa adds, “It’s alright if you stay.”

Castiel opens his mouth to argue, _why wouldn’t he see this task completed_ , but Santa’s wink stops him. Castiel blinks and he’s in a living room. A Christmas tree sits in the corner, so tall it brushes the ceiling. Some of the branches are scrunched against the side of a couch. Presents sit underneath, addressed to names like, _Sam, Jess, Baby Dean,_ and _Uncle Dean_.

The tag around Castiel’s neck reads, “To Dean, From Santa.” He wonders if it’s the baby or the uncle. He hopes it’s not the baby. He’s unsure how you would _hear out_ a baby. Either way, he should probably sit with the presents.

Castiel unfurls his wings to sit down comfortably, and in the process, accidentally knocks into the tree. The top scrapes across the ceiling. The limbs creak across the couch, and then, all at once,it crashes onto the floor. Castiel reaches for it with his free hand, tries to right it, but it’s too late. The light at the top of the stairs has clicked on. Voices whisper-yell.

“I’m going down first.”

“It’s my house!”

“You’re my little brother.”

“Who exactly is the short one here, Dean?”

“Low blow, Sammy.”

Footsteps start down the stairs.

Castiel steps in front of the tree. Maybe no one will notice.

The first down the stairs is a tall man with long wavy hair. He looks angry. Castiel hopes he’s not Dean.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel says, bringing his wings in close behind him. He doesn’t want any more accidents.

“Wait – Cas?” A shorter man pushes aside the first and suddenly he’s there. Green eyes that match his bow and freckles.

Castiel swallows hard and dares to hope. “Dean?” He holds up the bow and the tag around his neck.

The man smiles. “Yeah,” he says, then takes two steps closer and pulls Castiel into a hug.

Castiel’s never been hugged before. Instinctively, his wings stretch out to hold Dean in return.

Against Castiel’s shoulder, Dean whispers, “Thank you.”

“For the wrench?”

Dean laughs, only slightly – kind. “For everything.”

Castiel’s not sure what exactly he did, but Dean’s words warm his grace. For the first time in a year, he doesn’t feel longing. Only happiness. Only pride. “You are welcome, Dean.”

“Uh, someone want to fill me in?” the tall one says.

“Me, too!” shouts a blonde woman from the stairs.

* * *

Dean introduces Castiel to his brother Sam, and his wife Jess. He hears of baby Dean, named after his uncle, with a promise he’ll meet him later.

“A real life angel,” Sam says while staring at Castiel’s wings.

Dean hits him on the shoulder. “Get your own.”

* * *

They invite Castiel to stay for a while. Castiel likes the way Dean’s cheeks redden as he asks.

“Of course,” Castiel says. Santa had already told him he could.

* * *

Later, when Sam and Jess go to check on baby Dean, Dean looks at Castiel and asks, “Will I ever see you again after tonight?”

“I don’t often leave Heaven,” Castiel says. His heart hurts. His face feels heavy. Is this… sadness?

“Oh.” Dean looks away. He frowns.

“I could…” Castiel bites his lip. “I could visit?”

Dean’s eyes brighten as he turns back to Castiel. “Really?”

Castiel brightens, too, wings puffing up behind him. “Yes.”

“I’d like that,” Dean says.

“Me, too.” Castiel holds his gaze. Dean is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. “You could be an angel.”

“What?”

“You’re very…” Castiel’s face warms. He touches it with his hands, but that doesn’t seem to help. “Beautiful.”

“Me?”

Castiel nods enthusiastically.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is soft, soothing. Castiel dares a glance and finds him staring. “Thank you.”

“For the wrench?” Castiel asks.

Dean smiles. “Yeah.” He slides his hand into Castiel’s.

Castiel’s heart pounds hard in his chest. He smiles and wraps one wing around behind Dean. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

* * *

A year later, Santa receives a letter in the same script as the year before.

_Dear Santa,_

_I’m going to ask him to stay. My Christmas wish is that he says yes._

_Dean._

Santa rolls his eyes, elbows an elf, and laughs, “He doesn’t need my help with that!”

* * *

In between kisses placed all over Dean’s face, Cas says yes.

He also knocks over the tree again, but no one seems to mind.


End file.
